


All's Well That Ends Well

by DoreyG



Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: Ball Licking/Sucking, Body Worship, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Porn with Feelings, Sex Involving Daemons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: It’s been weeks since he had a moment to himself, away from Iorek.
Relationships: Iorek Byrnison/Lee Scoresby
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	All's Well That Ends Well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nununununu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/gifts).



> I loved writing for you so much, Nununununu! I really hope you enjoy this. <3

It’s been weeks since he had a moment to himself, away from Iorek. Weeks drifting over the endless tundra in his balloon; spending their days completing whatever jobs came their way, and spending their nights huddled next to each other to conserve heat. Weeks spent only seeing each other, only hearing each other, being unable to get away from each other for even a moment. Weeks spent without a single bit of privacy for either of them.

With any other person, or any other bear he supposes, he would've been tearing his hair out at the enforced intimacy. Would've been desperately longing for a moment just to gather his thoughts, have a private word with Hester. Might have even, although this is a dark thought unbefitting of a mature and upstanding adult such as himself, considered tipping any companionship out of his balloon several weeks ago.

But that isn’t the problem with Iorek. Heck, Iorek is his best friend (besides Hester, though the line there is rather blurry considering that she’s a part of him and disinclined to let him forget it). Iorek is the type of guy that you don’t mind spending several weeks straight with, because he’s respectful enough to make it a pleasure instead of a chore. Iorek is the type of bear that you start actively seeking more time with after a while, finding excuses to snuggle closer and hear more of his fascinating stories.

No, the problem with Iorek isn’t that he’s dead sick of intimacy. The problem _is_ that he’s ended up liking that enforced intimacy rather too much.

“Which ain’t exactly the kind of thing you can bring up in casual conversation with your very best friend,” he murmurs to Hester, as he collects the key to their room and hurries across the frozen courtyard. “‘Hey. so, after the past couple of weeks I now find myself getting hard every time you snuggle near me. And I need a bit of time to myself, or my balls are not only going to go blue but may well explode right off my body.’ Bit awkward, you know?”

“It’s only awkward because you’re awkward, you big ninny,” Hester sniffs at him, but still hops eagerly away at his side like she’s pretty impatient to get the deal over with too. “If you just gathered your courage, and actually _explained_ the matter to him-”

“No,” he says, jamming the key into the lock and giving it a far too firm twist.

“You’re an idiot,” Hester informs him, slides through the door just as he attempts to slam it in her face in a fit of minor pique. “Go on, release the pressure before we both end up exploding or something equally overdramatic.”

He loves his daemon, he reflects as he toes off his shoes and gets started on removing his coat, but he’s starting to think that she knows him far too well. Every thought, every plan, every overdramatic fluster. Honestly, it’s a good thing that he’s such an endearing scamp or she’d have started kicking him long ago.

The room isn’t much, but it’s good enough for his purposes. A small, _private_ space off the main courtyard in the one inn in this small and snow blasted town. Close enough that he can get out quick in case of trouble, far enough that he won’t be overheard unless somebody is actively trying. The door rattles a little in the wind, but the walls seem largely secure and there’s a bed big enough to fit him and two or three other partners if he was so inclined. It’s definitely not paradise, but after several weeks up in the sky he’ll most definitely take it.

He rips off his clothes fairly speedily, unwilling to mess around much when it only gets in the way of the main act. He tears off his coat, tosses it casually on the floor. Shimmies out of his braces, unbuttons his trousers and discards them in much the same way. He tugs his shirt over his head, absent-mindedly chucks it and winces as Hester narrowly dodges and gives him a filthy look. He wriggles his underwear over his hips, and leaves it where it lies as he makes his way towards the bed. The only awkward part of the process is having to hop a little to get out of his socks, and even then it’s not like anybody but Hester - who already thinks he’s an idiot - is around to witness it.

The bed feels about as good as it looks. Which is to say: shitty, with springs almost sticking out and a worryingly grey tinge to the sheets. That’s fine, though; he’s not exactly planning to make a home here, just to spend a cheerful night wanking and leave slightly shamefaced in the morning.

(Able to look the proprietors of this here establishment in the eye, because they’ve almost certainly seen worse, but not Iorek for a good day or so. Never say that he’s stupid, when it comes to the proper distribution of shame.)

But that’s for tomorrow morning, not for tonight with his exposed balls still practically ready to burst. He stretches out on the covers like a cat, ignoring Hester snorting at the comparison from the foot of the bed, and reaches down to cup himself lightly. He’s hard and throbbing already, painful and hot in the best way. It won’t take too much to push him right over the edge.

He has oil across the room, in his discarded trousers, but he’s perfectly willing to leave that for after he’s taken the edge off. For now he simply removes his hand from himself briefly, spits in it and then wraps it firmly around himself again. He uses exactly the grip he likes best, as tight as he can go without causing himself permanent damage.

It’s been torture these past few weeks, being so close to Iorek but too polite to touch. It’s not that he has low self-esteem, you don’t survive for long in his line of work if you do, but he still can’t quite bring himself to believe that Iorek would greet any advance positively. The guy, the bear, is one of the most unique creatures he’s ever met; brave, noble, devastatingly attractive and utterly sure of his skills. What would somebody like that want with a rangy aeronaut, who talks too much and is full of himself far too frequently?

“Lee,” Hester breaks in sharply, hopping up to his hip as his erection starts to wilt at that embarrassingly maudlin thought. “You know you’re great, so stop worrying about it. We don’t have all week, get on with it or act all repressed and frustrated forever.”

Ah, yes. He loves his daemon, even if she _does_ know him far too well.

He follows her orders, and takes himself gently in hand. He simply cradles himself at first, getting reused to touch after so long deprived. He’s learned, from long and bitter experience, that it’s best not to hurry in these kind of circumstances or else risk punching yourself in the balls with the uncoordinated force of your own enthusiasm. No, instead he simply holds himself tightly and attempts to calm down as much as he can before getting to the main act.

While doing so he summons up the beginning of his favourite fantasy, the one that always gets him going no matter the situation. Iorek in the room with him, Iorek sitting at the end of the bed on his big bear haunches, Iorek watching him with those dark eyes that somehow seem to strip him raw every single time they turn in his direction.

 _Yes_.

Calm enough, a little less likely to punch himself in the balls and cause Hester to laugh at him, he starts to move his hand slowly. He doesn’t tighten his grip, yet, or do anything particularly special. He just moves it slowly up and down his dick, feels the callouses catch against the tender skin and allows his mind to settle into what he’s doing. He’s never seen an alethiometer, let alone read one, but from what he’s heard the process is somewhat similar - allow your mind to sink into it slowly, allow all other distractions to fade away.

In his fantasy Iorek only watches him at first, those dark eyes intent and simmering. He seems to approve of the single minded focus, as much as a bear can approve of anything. Those dark eyes, so much more intelligent than most of the humans he’s had the misfortune to meet, track every single movement of his body: the arching of his back, the faint tossing of his head as he sinks deeper and deeper into it, the movement of his hand on his cock driving him steadily towards madness. In his mind, and he’s well aware that this borders on the obscene, Iorek looks like he’d quite happily eat him up.

He can’t help it. He groans, loud and long in the empty room. Hester does snicker at him, from where she’s perched on the other mangy pillow, but from the shifting of her hindquarters she’s starting to get a little distracted herself.

Sinking deeper into his pleasure, deeper into reading what his body wants out of this, he starts to increase the pace of his wanking. He still doesn’t tighten his grip, not _yet_ , but he allows his hand to speed up beyond a patient crawl. He starts to hear the slap of skin echo through the room, as he takes advantage of his spit slickness to pleasure himself. He starts to feel pleasure boil under his skin again, as the scrape of his callouses moving fast over such a sensitive place drives him higher and higher.

Iorek, still fantasy Iorek who can’t possibly judge him for his neediness because he’s part of his own brain, finally bestirs himself to move at the first groan. He sits a little higher on his haunches, and then actually gains his feet and plants his big paws on the bed. In reality the rickety thing would probably collapse outright at the weight of a fully grown panserbjørn on it, but in his head it only creaks a little louder in time with the movement of his hips. Iorek looms over him promisingly, a gorgeous hulk of muscle and fur and everything else he’s ever wanted.

Because this is everything he’s ever wanted, and it’s only here - in his own private room, the rickety door barely keeping the cold out - that he can admit it. He wants Iorek, so desperately that it’s all he can do to stop it from consuming him every single time he looks at the guy. He wants Iorek, and he can’t have him. He can’t have Iorek, and so he’s desperately going to try to subsume his desire into his own hand and his own fantasies.

He tightens his grip, racheting up the pleasure boiling in his stomach. He starts to roughen his movements now, give in to the desire for a bit of harsh treatment. He feels Hester kicking at his side, getting more and more into it at the same pace he is, and knows that she feels the same. It’s still not that he, they, have low self esteem; it’s rather that they have high enough self esteem to know that they love an edge of danger, a little ache to take the edge off.

Iorek, the Iorek of his fantasy, crawls up onto the bed. Again, in reality they’d both be on the floor but in fantasy it holds them both up almost as well as his balloon. The bear moves up and up until he’s standing over him, staring down at him, covering him so absolutely that if something was to hover up above they’d only be able to see a big bear back. The covering is a part of the appeal of the fantasy, making him feel small and weak and so ready to be dominated.

He groans again, louder this time, and feels his cock twitch hard in his grasp. Hester kicks besides him again, and lets out a soft wail of her own. He was right, earlier, about being right near the edge. It won’t take long, won’t take much detail or elaboration, for him to push himself right over. And then he can catch his breath, think things through, focus on doing it properly the second time around.

He’s starting to go wild now, starting to lose all coordination and any sense of grace. He has it from a reliable source, the notable definitely-not-a-rabbit at his side, that he never looks very attractive when he’s mid pleasure and he doesn’t find that hard to believe. He’s probably flushed bright red now, panting and groaning and desperate in the basest of ways. There’s only the movement of his hand, the catch of his skin, the pleasure boiling up inside him like an air vent about to explode.

Oh, and the fantasy of Iorek of course. In the fantasy, still clear even as everything else starts to fall apart at the seams, Iorek lets out a rumbling noise of his own and starts to lower himself down. He doesn’t quite have the presence of mind to summon all the details, all the little elaborations he’s made in over a decade of fantasy, but it’s the overarching idea that does it for him anyway. In reality he’d probably be crushed, in fantasy he feels all of Iorek’s weight come slowly down on him - pressing him into the bed, pressing the air out of his lungs - and downright yelps with the pleasure of it.

Hester yelps in time with him, and then they both laugh together, and then groan again. It really has been far too long, for both of them. They’re both giddy and aching. Not that either of them are usually sensible with their pleasure, _he_ certainly isn’t and Hester - despite being the one with the brainbox out of the two of them - is nowhere near as considered as she pretends, but it isn’t usually as bad as this. He feels hollowed out, already brainless with pleasure even before his first orgasm.

He was already uncoordinated, but now he can feel himself rushing up towards the edge. Just as fast as he likes, just as fast as he’s always trying to go in day to day life. He can feel the throb of his cock in his hand, the pleasure rising in his chest, Hester writhing with abandon besides him. He feels like he does when he’s flying besides Iorek, leaving all the concerns of the ground far behind.

And Iorek is besides him in his fantasy now, even if in reality he’s probably far away across the sea ice. Fantasy Iorek remains on top of him: crushing him into the bed, stealing the air from his lungs, dominating him in the best possible way. He likes imaging Iorek taking all control from his hands, not forcefully but with the thorough gentleness of somebody who knows a great deal better. 

_And_... “Fuck, _Iorek_!”

That thought, as predicted, is enough to push him right over the edge. His hand clenches on himself, involuntarily and to the point of pain, and then he yanks it away as his orgasm comes over him like a storm. For a long few moments there’s only a dim white light, his pleasure thrumming in his veins and Hester letting out a drunken sounding giggle - a sound so much freer than she usually allows herself - besides him.

(And in his fantasy, what limited amounts remain of his brain power going towards that, Iorek remains there right besides him. On top of him, pinning him down and licking his ecstatic tears from his face with the tenderness of a true lover. God, and isn’t _that_ a dream to keep any decent person warm on the coldest of nights.)

He comes down slowly, happily. The relentless press of pleasure has retreated now; and while it’s still there around the edges, ready to drive him towards a second peak in his own sweet time, it’s softer now. He’s happy to lie there on the bed, buck naked with the sweat cooling on his skin and a laugh caught cheerfully in his throat. He’s never usually a pessimist anyway, never usually one to wallow when he could be soaring, but damn if moments like this don’t remind him why life is so worth living.

He’s so happy, so blissed out on real pleasure and tempting fantasy alike, that it takes him a long few moments to realize that Hester is tense and trembling at his side.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks, voice still slightly slurred in the aftermath of orgasm, as he props himself up on one elbow and peers down at her. “Didn’t get your just desserts, or something…?”

“It’s not that, I had just as much fun as you,” Hester hisses, practically hopping on the pillow with the force of her obvious concern. Which is quite something, considering that he’s usually the one jackrabbiting around while she tries to pretend like she’s all calm and serene. “It’s just… Lee, can’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He asks, confused, and then actually starts paying attention when she rolls her eyes at him. Not that there’s much to pay attention to, all things considered. There’s only the whistle of the wind through the creaky door, the distant sounds of other people going about their business in the inn, the faint thump of something moving about outside…

Wait, that’s sure something.

“ _Now_ do you see why I’m concerned?” Hester hisses, coming to a rough and ready halt at his side. All of her attention is focused on the door, her little eyes narrowed as if she’s prepared to fight or fly at any moment. “Can’t you hear him coming towards us?”

“I can sure hear something,” he says grimly, and levers himself up into a sitting position as the thumping sound comes ever closer. He damns his messiness, the seeming safety of their private room making him sloppy where he’s usually contained. “What do you think it is? Do we have enough time to grab everything?”

“Lee.” Hester, for some reason, gives him a disapproving look. Which is mighty unfair, considering that he’s the one currently naked and still dazed in the aftermath of a pretty fantastic orgasm if he does say so himself. “Is this really the time for joking around?”

“Of course it isn’t.” He blinks at her in confusion, and then frowns in annoyance as the thumping noise gets closer and closer and she only continues to look at him like he’s an idiot. “That’s why I’m _asking_ if you have any idea what we should be preparing for.”

“You _know_ what we should be preparing for,” Hester hisses, for some reason just as annoyed as him even though he can hear heavy footsteps in the snow right outside now and _she’s_ the one still not bestirring herself to move anywhere.

He forgets himself, forgets the heavy feet right outside the doorway, in favour of glaring at her stubbornly instead. Two can play at this game, even if it is probably - on balance - one of the most foolish games they’ve ever played. “Not as well as you apparently do, miss high and-!”

And the door bursts open.

And, to what probably shouldn’t be his surprise in any shape or form, Iorek is standing in the wrecked doorway. On all fours, sans his armour. With his face unreadable, fixed in an expression of terrible intensity, and his dark eyes glittering like stars in his white furred face.

“Oh, Iorek,” he says dumbly, and then forces himself to summon up a little - just a _little_ \- more brain power and aims a glare at the still tense Hester sitting up on her hind legs at his side. “Look, it’s just Iorek. Nothing to worry yourself about, or act the fool over, or anything like-”

“I heard you,” Iorek says, quite simply, stalks into the room like a predator on the prowl with his eyes still fixed - almost obsessively, somebody with eyes of their own might say - on him lying on the bed. Naked, with come still cooling on his belly and his dick still half hard between his thighs.

Oh. Oh, _shit_.

“Oh,” he says out loud, and winces as Hester aims a hasty kick at his shoulder. He can’t even summon the energy to glare at her, not when she’s absolutely right to kick him for that bit of inanity and not when Iorek is still staring at him like a four course meal. “I’m, uh, sorry about that. Didn’t think I’d be so loud. I’m… Ah, guessing that’s the only reason why you’re in here?”

“Need there be any other reason?” Iorek asks, and _damn_ at the expression on the guy’s face. Despite himself, despite the uncertainty of the situation, he feels his cock twitch with interest against his thigh. “Need there be any other reason, than you and me?”

“Iorek…” He squeaks, and then barely stops himself from startling as Iorek takes another step closer to the bed. He’s never been scared of his friend before, he’s not quite scared of his friend now truth be told, but then he’s never been _looked_ at like that before either.

“You really thought that I wouldn’t hear you?” Iorek asks, his voice lowering to the kind of primal growl that sends hair raising across his body and his dick raising just as fast between his legs. “You really thought that I wouldn’t be listening to the slap of your skin? Scenting the sweat of your arousal? Imagining what you were doing, after hurrying away from me so quickly?”

“You have to admit,” he tries again, more weakly than he’s ever tried anything in his life. “It is a bit creepy-”

“You really thought,” Iorek continues over him, still looking at him like a meal- No, like a seal that’s just crawled up on the ice and laid itself out without care for the world around it. “That I wouldn’t hear it, when you whimpered my name as you reached your completion?”

Oh, _fuck_. His jaw drops open, his body starts to shake on the bed. And he really should be feeling shame, he really should be feeling horror and terror and humiliation and all those other horrible emotions that he tries to avoid as much as he can, but instead he finds himself feeling even more aroused than before. He isn’t sure where this is going, he’s sure that he shouldn’t find it quite so hot to be the seal inching ever closer to death in this situation, but-

“Lee,” Iorek growls, or maybe even _groans_ , and steps so close to the bed that his knees nudge up against it and the entire frame shakes promisingly. “You have no idea, how long I’ve been listening to you. You have no idea, how long I’ve been imagining you saying my name. No idea, how long I’ve wanted you more than anybody else I’ve ever known.”

... _But_.

He swallows, glances briefly over at Hester - long enough to meet her wide eyes, note the now excited tremble of her body - and then snaps his gaze right back to Iorek as he arches up on his hind paws to tower over the bed. When he looks up at Iorek, standing over him and looking even better than he did in the fantasy, his final decision is rather simple all things considered.

“I should probably find this creepy, you know,” he still murmurs, because he’s an established idiot, but then spreads his legs and happily accepts his status as a feast. Or a seal. Or even another bear, about to be taken in the _best_ of ways. “But, hey, I’ve never been into kinkshaming myself. Why don’t you show me just how much you want me, big boy?”

Iorek’s nostrils flare for a moment. And then he abandons all and any pretence of restraint, and clambers right up onto the bed with him.

The bed, as he’d vaguely predicted while distracted by his own hand, holds up to the added weight for about half a second before it makes a weak creaking noise and collapses to the ground. He finds it very hard to care; his attention is entirely consumed by Iorek on top of him, Iorek staring at him with a passionate hunger that he’s only ever dreamed of before. He gets one hand in thick white fur, lets out a full bodied groan as his erection swells back into eager life.

Iorek nuzzles at him for a long moment, eagerly, and then decides that nuzzling alone isn’t quite enough. His tongue dips out carefully at first, curling around his ankle in a test. This is obviously new for both of them, an unexpected boon that they’re going to have to work out how to deal with as soon as possible.

He feels that brute enthusiasm is a good start, at least from his end. He lets out another full bodied groan, Hester crying out in time besides him, and attempts to hook his other ankle behind Iorek’s neck. He’s greedy for more, hungry for everything that Iorek can give him in a way that he’s never quite been able to manage with any of his previous partners.

Iorek, thankfully, seems just as hungry for him. The bear’s tongue lingers on his ankle for a long moment, and then swipes steadily up. Iorek covers his calf in one long and thorough lick, seeming determined to taste every inch, and then moves on to the delicate skin of his knee. The sensitive skin at the back of that is lathered for a long moment, until he’s whimpering and desperate, and then Iorek moves on to his thigh in an equally thorough way.

Damn. He always knew that the guy was intense, but to be the subject of his focus in such a way… He lets out yet another groan, loud enough that Hester finds the time to snigger at him for it even in the middle of her own loss of control, and buries his hand even more firmly in what he can reach of Iorek’s ruff. He wants to splay himself wide open for the bear, wants to be devoured in the most intimate of ways.

Iorek doesn’t go straight for his cock, as much as he expects the guy to. Instead he finishes licking up his thigh, and then nuzzles at his hip for a long moment. He sees Iorek’s nostrils flare for a long moment, obviously drinking in the scent of his desperate arousal, and then the bear very deliberately starts to move higher. He’s not necessarily always the most observant of guys, especially when it comes to matters involving his cock, but it seems like Iorek is dead set on appreciating all of him.

He has no problem with that. He’s never been the vainest guy, no _matter_ what Hester might have to say on the subject, but he’s all in on a little body worship from his very favourite bear. He relaxes near instantly under Iorek’s bulk, sprawls out loosely on the bed and waits eagerly to see what the guy does next.

Iorek seems surprised by the level of trust instantly extended, like he _hasn’t_ been cheerily willing to follow the guy into hell itself since the moment they met, but hardly opposed to it. He moves on from nuzzling at his hip, mouthing at it with those big bear teeth barely covered by his big bear lips, and heads up over his stomach instead. Tastes every inch of that sensitive stretch of skin, seeming particularly fascinated by the lucky trail that stretches right down to his already throbbing cock.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to suggest that Iorek _act_ on that particular urge, if he’s already so fascinated by it, but he doesn’t even need the pointed kick from Hester (“don’t ruin a good thing, Lee!”) to hold his tongue on that. It’s probably a form of torture to have Iorek’s tongue rasping over his skin so near to and yet so far from his erection, but that doesn’t mean that it’s a bad thing. He loves the sense of anticipation; loves waiting, caught on the tenterhooks of arousal, to see what Iorek is going to choose to do with him next.

What Iorek does, and he’s a _huge_ fan of this particular decision too, is keep heading up his body. The Panserbjørn licks right up the centre of his chest, not seeming to particularly mind the sparse hair there, and pauses for only a moment before branching out in the most glorious of ways. Iorek only noses at his nipples at first, seeming borderline confused by the exposed red nubs, but quickly gets with the programme and rasps his tongue over them too. Before long he’s tasting them thoroughly, like a scientist testing for some kind of reaction.

And boy, does Iorek get that reaction. He arches up off the bed, as far as he can with a Panserbjørn perched on top of him, and yelps his pleasure to the rickety ceiling. He hears Hester do much the same thing besides him, trembling in the grip of her own sudden passion. It’s just… A lot. A lot in the absolute _best_ of ways. He feels strung out, utterly undone by pleasure just from the relatively simple sensation of Iorek nosing at his chest. He’s never had a reaction like that to any other partner, he must be getting more sensitive in his old age.

Iorek moves on from his nipples eventually, with a regretful air, and shifts that big head up his body yet again. The bear nuzzles at his collarbone for a long moment, tasting the sensitive flesh there and seeming to take a certain delight in his answering whimper, and then licks across to his shoulder and down. His arms, first one and then the other, are covered in much the same way that his leg was - thoroughly, and with an attention to detail that’d leave him weak kneed if he wasn’t already sprawled on his back.

He never thought that his arms were particularly an erogenous zone, but you live and learn. He finds himself rolling his hips restlessly, feels Hester growing just as agitated at his side. There’s just something about having Iorek touching him so thoroughly, about the fact that Iorek is even taking the time to sniff at his fingers and lick the remnants of his previous session off his fingertips. It’s… Nice, to indulge himself in the biggest understatement of the century.

Iorek finishes with his arms, giving a pleasing rumble as he does so, and then moves quickly on to his neck. The Panserbjørn covers the front of it in one long lick, seeming to take a certain pleasure in the convulsive force of his answering gasp, and then sniffs briefly at the underside of his jaw before moving up to his face. Iorek covers his face in a lot of tiny, deliberate licks; as if he’s seeking not just to taste, but to cover him in a glorious shower of kisses.

He wasn’t really holding back in the first place. But, at Hester’s hasty whisper in his ear, he allows all restraint to fall completely by the side. He arches up, and attempts to meet Iorek’s lips with his own. It’s messy and awkward and borderline dangerous at some points, a creature with those kind of teeth just wasn’t made for bog standard human kissing, but he still persists. Attempts to show that he’s just as into this as Iorek is, with the enthusiasm of lips and tongue and even his own teeth when he gets into it.

He half feared that Iorek would find the whole process weird, or even take offence, but he was wrong to fret. Iorek pauses for a confused moment, yes, but soon attempts to return the kiss. He props himself up on those big bear elbows, as best he can, and redistributes his weight so they can meet each other more easily. And it’s strange to make out with a Panserbjørn, it undeniably is, but it’s also one of the best experiences of his life; a tender violence that he wants to drown himself in for the rest of his days.

Iorek indulges in the kiss for a long moment more, obviously enjoying himself a fair amount too if the deep rumble in his chest is anything to go by, but still obviously has a plan in mind. Before long the bear draws back, and slides eagerly down his body again. The movement should look awkward, a fully grown Panserbjørn trying to shuffle around in a space far too tiny for him, but instead looks fluid and powerful. Boy, did he luck out.

He’s already right on the edge, trembling with the force of his own arousal. He whimpers as Iorek settles between his legs, nudges gently between them until he’s spread wide open and ready for the feast. He can barely breath, barely think. There’s only the buzz of the pleasure, the presence of Iorek felt like a physical touch against his skin even when they’re largely apart.

He’s never really had his balls touched much during sex before - has always considered it rather a distraction from the main act, truth be told - but it’s a revalation to feel Iorek’s tongue on him there too. A desperate gasp forces from his lungs, he feels his entire body tremble and clench as Iorek slowly starts to explore him. There’s a sense of damp pressure, a glorious touch in his most intimate of places that leaves him whimpering and writhing and buzzing and…

 _And_ -

He doesn’t mean it to all be over so quickly, he really doesn’t, but when Iorek laps at his balls one more time he comes with a helpless cry. It’s just all too much, too intense. The force of orgasm hits him hard in the gut, yet again, and he’s powerless to stop it. Powerless to do anything, under the attentions of his favourite Panserbjørn that he’s always loved and never thought that he’d get to have.

Iorek seems surprised, judging by his brief jerk back, but definitely doesn’t seem annoyed by his lack of control. There’s a long moment of silence, as he floats weakly in a field of pleasurable light and desperately tries to get his breath back, and then that rough tongue gently descends again. The touch of it this time is tender, lovingly passionate as it cleans every drop of his spend up.

He thinks of several beginnings to sentences, several things he could say and not immediately fuck this thing up, but in the end he’s only driving his mind in circles and he’s always been a man of action. He hesitates for another second, staring at the ceiling. And then finally acknowledges the insistent nudging from Hester, and levers himself up on his elbows.

Iorek is still perched over him, looking as uncertain as a bear can look. There’s a certain tense set to his shoulders, a certain nervous look in his eyes. He looks, not to put too fine a point on it, like he’s perfectly willing to allow himself to be thrown out on his ear if the situation calls for it.

He clears his throat, awkwardly. Gives Iorek a slightly uncertain smile of his own. “Hey.”

“Hello.” Iorek blinks at him, takes in a deep breath and sits up a little higher on the - by now - near completely dismantled bed. “Lee, I would like to apologize for any discomfort that I-”

“You didn’t discomfort us!” Hester bursts in, a ball of nervous energy. She hops up onto his stomach, goes up onto her hind legs and does her urgent best to meet Iorek’s shifty eyes. “You didn’t discomfort us one bit. You only did what Lee should’ve had the courage to do long ago, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah. Call me a coward, make us all feel better,” he grumbles, but in a fond way. He makes sure to keep his touch gentle, as he scoops his arms underneath her and deposits her comfortably over to the side. “She ain’t wrong, though, Iorek. You said that you’ve been wanting to do that for a while. Well, I’ve been wanting to do it to you too for just as long… Or for you to do it to me for just as long, whatever way works best.”

“Lee…” Iorek hesitates for another long moment, but at least some of the tension seems to go out of his oh so stiff shoulders.

“Iorek,” he interrupts. And, with only the briefest glance towards Hester for a healthy bit of encouragement, shifts down the bed and places his hand on the Panserbjørn’s ruff again. “Did you even manage to finish, when I was busy doing my whole writhing ecstasy routine?”

“I didn’t, no,” Iorek admits, on a rumbled laugh that makes something pure and beautiful surge up in his chest as Hester hops eagerly up and down on the bed. “Whatever did I do, to deserve a human such as you?”

“It must’ve been some miracle.” He grins, knowing that everything is going to be alright. And, at another encouraging kick from Hester, tightens his grip on Iorek’s thick fur and drags them all right back down again.


End file.
